


Catastrophic Momentum

by nonky



Category: Dirt (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18516988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonky/pseuds/nonky
Summary: Prompted by carla_scribbles on LJ: Dirt, Lucy/Holt, you laugh tonight and cry tomorrow/as you behold your shattered schemes





	Catastrophic Momentum

Lucy's heel dug over his heart, his hand grasping weakly at her ankle as she ground her bony ass at him. Holt never lost the look of injured awe when he finally understood her limits - he was always deeply wounded she would do the things she did to him again and again. Of course, he was fine with the physical stuff, though he liked to complain of his morals to keep up the very important chasm between his shiny, fresh soul and her ugly reporter's satchel where a conscience used to be.

She wasn't afraid to be drunk and rough in bed - it was one of the few ways the gender stereotypes rolled to the benefit of women. Men never complained a woman was too forceful sexually, unless they weren't up for the task.

Holt was many things she had no use for, but he was up for the task.

Lucy developed a plan for her nights with him; the first thing to do was kick him out before he glanced at his watch and sighed almost silently. He had a wife and she was married to her job, and it was fine, really. She got off with him, and that was better than fine, but it meant some adjustments.

She got out of her bed when he did, because it was pathetic to cling to his cooling pillow. She had to find television on at that hour to watch until the voices blurred into her sleep. She did not indulge in a fatty snack to make herself feel better. She did not go into the office six hours early for the next day's work; that was all the way around to pathetic again.

It had been years since Lucy really had to be careful about getting attached to a guy just because she had the run of his cock. It had been decades since she cared so much what was happening behind a hesitant, reluctant grin that flashed masculine pride like a strip club's neon sign. It had been years since she regretted giving up on her personal life to become Lucy Spiller, purveyor of gossip and illumination.

Holt could dismiss all that about her by hating it just so much; Lucy was eight again, in pig-tails and scuffed mary janes with her hands twisting uselessly until she heard some gentle acceptance. She had worked hard to achieve her present life, and Holt wasn't going to change her mind about who she was.

Still, during her late-night, post-Holt sprawls, she often found celebrity biography programs. She started recording the ones with Elizabeth Taylor, especially the ones where Liz talked about Richard Burton and Eddie Fisher. There was no way she and Holt (and his wife, never forget America's Sweetheart) could ever get that messy, she thought hopefully. Maybe once in a while, she counted the months up in her time with Holt and compared it to the breakneck pace of the excommunicated Burton's courtship.

Lucy eventually admitted she was secretly hating Debbie Reynolds all along, and envious of a papal denounciation.


End file.
